


The Man Made of Earth

by 3moGirl



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Culmination of events, Hector's only mentioned, Hopeful Ending, M/M, No Dialogue, Post-Achilles' death, Sad, post-Patroclus' death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:49:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28771878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3moGirl/pseuds/3moGirl
Summary: Patroclus was earth, Achilles was not.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus, Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles), Achilles/Patroclus of Opus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	The Man Made of Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, y'all. I know I've been neglecting my other fics, and I'm sorry about that. School start last week (on the sixth, actually, so that was fun), and I've had to do homework and shit, so I'm sorry. I hope to update my Dazed and Confused AU soon. I just read The Song of Achilles and I'm in pain. Please enjoy this random burst of whatever this is. I hope you like. I'm working on my descriptive writing, so let me know if this stlye of writing is something you like and if I should do something like this for the other fandoms/ships I write for.  
> Thanks. xoxo

He was made of earth.

Skin like tree bark.

Eyes like mud.

Hair like dirt.

Lips like the bruised skin of a peach.

Teeth like pearls.

Voice like the dew on the grass in the morning.

His skin was soft like a weathered pebble whenever he touched him.

His eyes were trusting whenever they met his.

His hair was tight curls that tangled in his fingers.

His lips were sticky with fig juice when they kissed.

His teeth were sharp whenever he ran his tongue over them.

His voice rumbled in chest as he moaned.

Patroclus was earth, Achilles was not.

His mother reminded him that the boy made of earth was just that: a boy. Mortal.

But Achilles did not care, for he would die long before his lover.

Patroclus was supple.

He bent under Achilles’ hands.

He moaned in his mouth.

He returned each gesture with vigor.

His mother said that Patroclus was nothing.

That he should mean nothing to him.

But that was impossible, for Patroclus had always meant everything to him.

He knew Achilles’ miseries and his madness.

He knew his fears and his dreams.

He knew the way he looked at night and the morning.

He knew how his face flushed.

Patroclus was the son of a king.

He did not have ichor running through his veins, nor did his ancestors.

He was the exiled son of a king.

He was no one special.

He would not be remembered like Achilles.

He would die being no one.

But Achilles, even in Hades, would remember Patroclus.

He would remember the man made of earth forever.

He prayed for Patroclus’ life to be long and plentiful.

It was not.

The man made of earth met his end in Troy, dressed in Achilles’ gleaming armour.

His body made of tree bark was limp and covered in the red of his blood.

Hector, they said, struck him down.

Hector would die, then.

Achilles held his lover made of earth in his arms made of bronze and screamed.

Patroclus did not stir.

He did not reach out.

He did not brush back the wave of gold that fell in Achilles’ eyes with his tree branch fingers.

Achilles screamed again.

He clutched the tree bark skin and cried.

And still, Patroclus remained dead.

Achilles killed.

And killed.

And killed.

And killed.

Until Hector was dead.

And then he was dead.

But Patroclus was not there.

His name was not etched on the grave besides Achilles’.

His spirit was not in Hades

And Achilles was alone.

He was in agony

Constantly.

There would be no relief until Patroclus was at his side again.

In the end, it was his mother.

The goddess who hated Patroclus.

The goddess who wanted them to never see each other again.

It was this goddess who had Patroclus’ name etched beside Achilles’.

Patroclus was glowing like the sun.

He was a warm summer day.

His smile was endless.

And his voice, when it released Achilles’ name, was a sigh of wind.

Achilles held him tightly and closely.

He vowed to never release this man.

His lover.

His life.

His death.

Patroclus cried.

And cried.

And cried.

And cried.

His tears could have created a river, if the gods so wished.

They clung to each other.

They walked Elysium together.

They entered the Isle of the Blest together.

They lived their deaths with hands clasped.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, thank you for reading. I hope you liked it. If you did, please give me a kudos because I crave validation. Anyway, like I said, I'm planning on updating my Losers 'Dazed and Confused' AU soon, so yeah. If you like this fic, please consider reading some of my others, which are all Stephen King's "IT" fics so far. And, once again, like I said before, if you liked this type of fic, let me know if I should do this for some other ship. Okay. Thank you. (Side note: I don't hate Thetis like so many of TSoA fans seem to. I'm just going off of Patroclus' bias in said book to represent her here, since it's been a long while since I've consumed The Illiad.)


End file.
